PART(ie) Hard

“Do you want to get expelled!?”

Those are the first things Celestia says to Pinkie Pie when they are locked in a concrete room together with a camera in each corner aimed at them and a mirror reflecting everything back to Pinkie Pie.

“Yes,” says Pinkie Pie from her spot cuffed to the uncomfortable chair. “You have no idea how badly I want to be expelled. Like, on a scale of one to ten it would be thirty five and a half. I'm only here because I'm being blackmailed, anyway, so I would love to have a way out. Can you be nice and give it to me? I promise I'll send you birthday and Hearth's Warming cards.”

Celestia frowns and sits across from her, arms folded across her chest and her eyes narrowing in on the young woman.

“If you want to play that game let me tell you what will happen,” says Celestia. “First, upon expulsion you will be tried for terrorism and sent to a maximum security prison where we put you in a drug induced coma for at least fifty years.”

Pinkie Pie's jaw drops. “What?”

“Then all the property damage you caused -from the shop, to the pier, to the school and now the club- will be transferred to your family's name. Millions in debt will be owed by your family because of you.”

“Hold on-”

“Lastly, your entire team will be expelled. That means Applejack will go back to the farm, Trixie will go back to being stuck at second place for everything and Rarity will lose her chance to become something more than the Belle Family mascot. And all three of them would be barred from any Academy submissions and government jobs. Your recklessness will kill the dreams of everybody around you. This does not include the collateral damage of Team FORT.”

“That's not fair!”

Pinkie Pie slams her fists on the table, causing the metal to bend from a blue electric cloud and her to wince when a zap burns her ankle. Celestia, however, meets the display with coldness not appropriate for someone with a sun tattooed on her shoulder.

“What's not fair is your destructive behavior dragging everybody through the mud without consequence,” says Celestia.

“But why should my team be expelled because of me?” cries Pinkie Pie, struggling to breathe.

“Actions have consequences, Pinkie Pie. Especially when there is a team involved. And speaking of consequences.”

Celestia pulls out a tablet from a bag she had carried in, and after typing in a few commands there is a beep and a ding, and she shows the student the screen.

PART -with the respective photos next to the letters- shifts to APRT, putting Applejack up top, and Pinkie Pie's wide eyes water as she looks into Celestia's hardened gaze.

“As of now you have lost your status as team leader of Team PART. Applejack will take over the role unless you put your chaotic behavior to rest. She will be notified of this decision tomorrow when she is scheduled to have her and Rarity's injuries fully treated. Injuries that I might add you are directly responsible for.”

Pinkie Pie's tongue stiffens, and her body shakes as Celestia walks over to her side with her hands clamped behind her back.

“Just something to think about when you go back to your dorm,” says Celestia. “If you still want to be expelled let me know in a timely manner.”

And with that, the Principle leaves and locks the door behind her, leaving Pinkie Pie trapped in the room with only her reflection as company.

Pinkie Pie is not sure when she was released from the concrete room. All she has for a time table is that when she was brought in it was dark, and now after being escorted outside by guards in heavy full body armor it is blinding sunlight.

Students walk around in the distance in their uniforms, carrying books or lunch bags, chatting or sitting in silence, their steps lively and voices light. Pinkie Pie, however, shuffles. Each foot is a chunk of solid stone that grinds against the pavement, her hair is a complete mess compared to the well groomed heads of the students, and her out of uniform and very dirty attire puts her as beacon in the crowd. She can feel the eyes on her, but right now she does not care.

She does not care about the phony concerned looks she is receiving.

She does not care about her hands barely able to hold her card, much less grip the handle to the door of her dorm building.

She does not care about the elevator taking forever to come down or go up.

She does not care about Flash waiting outside her room, or his vicious tone when he yells at her with muddled words. Probably demanding answers to why she snatched Rainbow and Octavia. Answers that she knows he won't like or listen to.

When she unlocks her door and slips inside she does not slam the door in Flash's face, but closes it at the speed of molasses. There are thumps at the door, thumps and screams, but Pinkie Pie ignores them and shuffles through the empty dorm to the bathroom.

Where's her team?

No, where's Applejack's team?

Who cares. She's alone.

She grips the polished sink and stares at her reflection.

Her lips and darkened eyes are sagging, her ugly hair is laying mostly flat with frazzled strands curled up and around like pink weeds.

Her eyes tremble and her vision blurs. Her chest heaves and hurts, and when she brushes back her bangs some of her hair decides to stay on her fingers.

She blinks and looks at the pink hair. Tears leave shimmering streaks on her cheeks and she looks in the mirror again, hands trembling and throat aching from swallowing the wet stone, and her eyes flick to a pair of scissors sitting in a cup.

They are nice scissors.

Nice.

Sharp.

Scissors.

The thumping has stopped. The muffled yelling has stopped. But she knows he is still camping out there. Probably wants to bash her head in with a rock.

Pinkie Pie grabs the scissors.

Can she blame him?

No she cannot.

She seems to have a way of ruining things when she is trying to do the right thing.

She grabs a clump of her ugly hair and brings the scissors up to it.

Something is beeping. Something is biting her ankle.

She is just chaotic.

There's a pain.

Her hands shake harder and glow.

Forget the pain. Fix the now.

Tears flow freely.

Suffocation.

She is chaos.

Trapped.

Ugly.

She closes her eyes, but the truth is still there.

Cornered.

Chaotic.

It is all in her nature.

Chained.

Terrible.

That is what she is.

That is all she is.

Applejack has no idea how to react to the news she had just received. One minute she was sitting in the brightly lit medical chamber, watching a green glowing goo squeezing her leg. The next, she found herself having a conversation with Principal and Vice Principal Faustsend. Neither of them appeared happy, especially Celestia, but their voices were even when they discussed the change that she had absolutely no say in. Well, Celestia did, anyway. Luna was on her phone trying to make dinner reservations, much to the annoyance of Celestia. That said, once the whole: “Congratulations you are now Team Leader of Team APRT” came in it stunned Applejack's tongue and vocabulary. Really, all she can do is blink dumbly.

So blink she does.

And blink again she does.

“I know it is a lot to take in, but you have so far been the only one in your team to display leadership qualities whereas your former leader displayed an amazing amount of insanity,” says Celestia. “It really was a mistake putting her on as Team Leader due to her nature, but I'm confident that you will put the team back on track.”

Applejack blinks again. “Eh... I think I'm partially to blame for her acts.”

Celestia's hand shoots up. “Don't. You have been restricted to a wheel chair. There was not much you could do to stop her destructive behavior.”

“But Pinkie didn't mean to hurt anybody or break anything. She's just trying to help.”

“Interfering with investigations by getting into a fight at a known criminal club is not helping. In regards to the previous subject, with you out of your wheel chair I can confidently say that you will be great in getting your team fixed.”

“But-”

“No buts. Think of this as another lesson. There are times when leadership roles are put upon you whether you like it or not. I expect to see your team back to the classes, tomorrow. Tests are coming, so is the dance. Make your team's redemption stellar and I'll remove APRT from the dance ban list.”

“... There's a dance?”

Celestia sighs and rubs her brow. “Yes, there is a dance, but grades should be your focus.”

Applejack nods. “Yes ma'am. I'll, eh, get it fixed for ya.”

“Good.” Celestia pulls out a pad and after a couple of clicks her face is briefly lit up from a glow. “I have sent an email notifying your team of the change, but if you want to speak with them personally Rarity is in Room R-A-1, Trixie is in the Library and Pinkie Pie is back in her room.”

Celestia turns off her pad, and grips it behind her back with both hands.

“Have a good day,” she says.

And then she turns and leaves, ordering Luna to follow her.

“No, four,”' says Luna. “.. Fouuur! Fo- Oh, for the love of- Sink-Oh! Yes... Yes! We'll be there at six... Faustsend. Bye.”

Luna hangs up and follows Celestia out of the room.

“That was a nightmare,” grumbles Luna.

“I'm sure it was,” says Celestia dryly.

Then the door slides shut behind them, leaving a slab of metal and glass between Applejack and the hallway, and the newly promoted student sighs and hunches over. With one hand she runs her fingers through her hair and with the other she grabs the cane she used after the first examination.

“Oh boy.”

Rarity rolls her newly healed arm and the white clothed doctors in the room keep their distance with their proud smiles on full display.

“How does it feel?” asks the lead doctor.

“It feels much better,” says Rarity. She flexes her hand in front of her face, then runs her other hand up and down her newly healed arm while giving the doctors a small smile. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I would suggest keeping the fighting to a minimum for at least four weeks just to give your arm time to regain its peak motor function and for the muscles and bones to get stronger.”

Rarity nods. “Of course.”

“If there are any problems do not hesitate to come by for an inspection.”

“Right... Thank you.”

The doctors nod and politely excuse themselves, and once they are out of the room Rarity has a couple of minutes of peace to test her arm. She smiles when she flexes, rolls, lifts random items around the room and does a visual inspection. She sees no signs of scarring, only a light green sheen from the goo they used. Her arm is a little cold, but bearable, and the procedure was painless for the most part, so the experience was not bad. The only terrible part was the wait time, but it was worth it.

A light knock on the door brings Rarity out of her thoughts and she feels lighter when she sees Applejack in the doorway, holding her cane. She is not using it, but Rarity can understand why Applejack brought it with her. Another thing that Rarity notices is that Applejack is not smiling. She actually has a heavy frown and her shoulders are sagging as if a heavy pack had been placed on her back.

“Applejack, you're walking again,” says Rarity.

“That I am,” says Applejack. She enters the room and awkwardly looks around. “Its good to see you without a cast.”

Rarity twists her arm in front of her face, trying to hold her smile despite Applejack's gloomy state.

“It feels good to give it some air, but the doctors said not to do any fighting for about a month,” says Rarity.

“They said the same thing after they fixed my leg,” says Applejack.

“I guess that will put us further behind on the exams.”

“Eeyup.”

And in comes an awkward silence where the two young women can't look at each other. The seconds drag to minutes, and Applejack takes a seat in an empty chair and Rarity sits on her cot, her hands between her legs and her teeth biting down on her lip. At first she looks at the floor, but she does peek at Applejack, who has her cane between her legs and is staring at the floor. Her teammate's hands grip the top tight and her green eyes cannot focus on anything, so Rarity takes a deep breath and kneels next to Applejack, putting her hand on her leg.

“Applejack, what's wrong?” asks Rarity.

Applejack's eyes flick to her, but quickly return to the floor. “Well... Principal Celestia visited me and told me that Pinkie's been demoted and I'm taking her place.”

Rarity's mind goes blank, but when thoughts return she pulls away, not really sure how to feel about the news.

“... So, we aren't PART(ie) anymore?” asks Rarity.

Applejack shakes her head. “No, we're APRT. Sounds kinda depressing, to be honest. Almost as bad as DAFT.”

“How is Pinkie taking the news?”

Applejack shrugs. “Not sure. I hadn't spoke with her ever since she left on that idiotic plan of hers, but knowing her it will probably be a very extreme reaction.”

“Where is she now?”

“Celestia said she was in the dorm, so I'm gonna head over there and see how she is handling it. I need you to find Trixie and bring her back to our room for a meeting. Celestia said she was in the library, so that'll be a good place to start.”

“...Are you sure that's a good idea? Me and Trixie don't exactly get along. Come to think of it, Trixie doesn't get along with anybody.”

“Well, you and Trixie are just gonna have to get over it.” Applejack stands up with the help of her cane. “Today is a new day and we're gonna be a new team. Fresh slate, hatches buried and if y'all ain't gonna do it yourselves I'm gonna do it for you, and ya ain't gonna like me if I have to play babysitter.”

Rarity's tongue goes stiff and Applejack heads out the door, gripping its frame to look over her shoulder at Rarity.

“Ya might want to make it quick. The sooner we get this new direction explained the better,” says Applejack.

Trixie steps out of the elevator, wearing the school uniform, carrying a bag with a star and wand on it, and in one hand she is holding a bundle of mail tied together with twine while the other holds a book titled: History of the Tsiun Liberation Army.

As Trixie walks down the hall, she notices Flash sitting outside her door, and never before had she seen him more livid. The wrinkles from his scowl are darkened by the shadow, and when he stands up, it is stiff and his eyes darken when they focus on Trixie, putting her steps to a crawl and her brain into calculating the best method to knock him out without her weapon..

“Are you free to talk?” asks Flash.

“Not really,” says Trixie. She slips her book and mail in her bag. “Trixie had a long, tiresome night and day, so she needs her beauty rest.”

Trixie pulls out her key card and is about to unllock her door, but Flash's palm slams into the wall, blocking Trixie's view with his arm, and she glances at him, meeting his vicious glare with a defiant look of her own that should be hiding her growing anxiety.

“Before you get your cat nap maybe you can explain to me why Rainbow and Octavia were snatched up by Celestia and why I was threatened with demotion,” says Flash, his voice even but heavy. “What did Pinkie drag my team into?”

Trixie rolls her eyes in thought. “Well, let's see here... something about saving the city and not being a spineless coward using the school as a safe space. Or something like that.”

Flash narrows his eyes and Trixie unlocks her door, slides under his arm and gives herself just enough space to slip in, and with a firm grip on the knob she faces Flash.

“Trixie thinks its best not push this. Trixie has had a bad day and she would really hate to slug your pretty face,” says Trixie.

“Oh, poor little you. Well, don't worry, I won't keep you, but you better tell Pinkie that PART is not to go near my team. Ever. Don't talk to us. Don't note us. And don't ask us for anything. We're through,” says Flash.

“Noted. Bey bey, pleb.”

And with that Trixie closes the door with a satisfied click and she goes to the beds, flipping through her mail, hearing trickling water and beeps that she pays no mind to. That is until she steps in water. Her steps freeze and with a curious raise of her brow she looks at her wet shoes, wiggling her toes, then she follows the pool of water towards the bathroom. Her eyes follow the water up and they widen when they see the sink absolutely destroyed with just a jagged stub with a warped pipe on the top gurgling trickles of water. Around the floor broken white porcelain, splinters of dark wood and all of PART(ie)'s towel, wash cloth and hand towel supply, plus lots of pink hair lays in the water. There is also a pair of warped scissors partially hidden in the mess.

Trixie's gaze shifts towards the corner, and her jaw goes slack when she sees Pinkie Pie sitting in the corner, clothes soaked, eyes bloodshot, hair reduced to a mangled mess that barely reaches her neck with her bangs hanging in front of her eyes. Her leader's ankle bracelet is beeping and flashing red and her blue hands twitch as she looks at her with a smile tainted by her tear soaked face.

“Good news... My ugly hair's gone,” says Pinkie Pie.

In Team DAFT's dorm, Drake is spraying the air with a gratuitous amount freshener that smells like an ocean breeze, and he also lit scented candles placed in strategic locations around the room. All this is to put to rest the stench of Zephy, who has yet to pack up his stinky bed roll and dufflebag junk and leave, despite Drake and Thorn's best efforts. The candles are also supposed to invoke a sense of calm, but so far all he can feel is stress, and he knows Fluttershy is feeling it, too. Normally she is very good about hiding anything that isn't related to anxiety, but with Zephyr around she has more than one occasion excused herself from the room to go on a long walk.

When Drake is finished spraying he sighs and looks at Zephyr, who is talking to Astro while Thorn and Fluttershy sit across the room, probably plotting his murder.

“So you do that and you will have her bending over for you in no time!” says Zephyr proudly.

Fluttershy grimaces and Astro seethes and rubs the back of his head.

“Yeah, about that... I don't think it will work out between us,” he says.

There is a sudden harsh knock on the door and Drake absentmindedly opens it, not really sure who to expect. But one thing is certain, he was not expecting Trixie to barge right in and slug Zephyr in the face.

Fluttershy screams and jumps up, and Drake, Astro and Thorn stare at Zephyr's limp body, then slowly look at Trixie, who is seething and massaging her hand. After some seconds she looks at DAFT.

“What?” asks Trixie.

“...Do you want to be dance partners?” asks Thorn.